


realism in play-acting

by chlorobenzene



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23278714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chlorobenzene/pseuds/chlorobenzene
Summary: "What if," Tsumugi starts. His hands are clasped in front of him, his gaze steady. "What if we make the sender think that Tasuku is taken? Surely that would stop them."
Relationships: Takatoo Tasuku/Tsukioka Tsumugi
Comments: 90
Kudos: 270





	1. the beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so what happened is i found this very cute fake dating manhua, got roped (?) into yelling about fake dating tatsum au on twitter, and then blacked out and finished this chapter in record time. 
> 
> special thanks to krsh who beta'd this in lightning speed, chi for her lovely comments, and mel for basically starting my fake dating tatsum au spiral 💚💙

"We have to do something about this."

 _This_ is a box in Izumi's arms, its maroon ribbon tied into a complex multi-layered bow. It looks expensive—it even _smells_ expensive, a soft bouquet of rose and lily. Pinned to it is a card in ivory paper, lines of delicate golden swirls framing the embossed name of its intended receiver.

 _Takato Tasuku-sama_ , the kanjis spell out in gold.

Tasuku looks vaguely sick.

"Should we op—" someone says quietly, a half-hearted suggestion.

"No." Tasuku's answer is tense and swift, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "Just—just leave it there. Donate it. Burn it. I don't care, just don't open it."

Izumi places the box down on the table, gingerly, as if the box is about to burst into flames any minute. "We have to do something about this," she repeats, her gaze firm as she addresses everyone in the room. It lands on Tasuku, whose arms are crossed tightly across his chest. Next to him, Tsumugi is patting his shoulder in sympathy.

This box is the latest in a string of gifts addressed to Tasuku, each with the same ivory card. There is no return address, nothing to discern the identity of its sender—except for the fact that she seems to be obsessed with Tasuku.

It started almost innocently, at first. Actors regularly receive fanmails and gifts, and by now everyone in Mankai Company is used to the extravagant gifts that Tasuku gets from his fans, especially the ones who had been his fans when he was still affiliated with Godza. So no one batted an eye when the first gift arrived, filled with expensive chocolate and a leather box of metal cufflinks the shape of a crown. The chocolate, always welcome in a dorm full of teenage boys and one Hyodo Juza, was eaten in record time, the cufflinks stored in a cardboard box in the storage with Tasuku's name on the label.

The next gift arrived three days later, with the same ivory card pinned to it. In it was a bottle of champagne, which everyone agreed was too expensive to waste. Another gift arrived over the weekend, and the next (emerald green silk tie), and the next (leather gloves with hand-stitched initials) and the next (silver tie pin, dotted with a single amethyst).

Tasuku's frown has been getting deeper with each gift, his expression sour. The eight gift was unceremoniously dumped into the storage, unopened, as was the ninth.

The tenth gift is now sitting on the table, its bow trailing down its side in elegant curls.

"This needs to be stopped," Tasuku says, his crossed arms tightening. Tsumugi has started rubbing his upper arms in small circles, as if soothing a small child.

"I can help trace the sender, if you want, make sure she stops doing this," Chikage remarks, a touch too casual, with a shadow of a smirk and a sharp glint in his eyes. Hisoka opens his eyes at that, tilts his head so he can look at Chikage. A few moments pass between them, a silent argument which allows no room for the others to join in, until Chikage huffs softly and Hisoka yawns, blinking lazily before tilting his head away and resumes his nap in Azuma's lap.

"Any idea?" Izumi asks, firmer this time, as if Chikage hadn't spoken.

"What if," Tsumugi starts. His hands are clasped in front of him, his gaze steady. "What if we make the sender think that Tasuku is taken? Surely that would stop them."

"Are you saying he should date someone?"

"No," Tsumugi shakes his head. "He only has to _pretend_ to date someone, for a little while. Just enough for the...secret admirer to back off."

"Don't be absurd." Tasuku turns his head to face Tsumugi. "I don't even like girls."

"I'm not saying it has to be a girlfriend," Tsumugi argues. "It might be better for it _not_ to be a girlfriend, just in case she tries to do something reckless and the situation escalates."

Izumi hums in thought, weighing the situation. "Tsumugi-san has a point," she says at last. "We can consider this a stop-gap measure while we sort this thing out."

The others are murmuring their agreement and Tasuku sighs, throwing his head back in defeat. He can feel a headache coming, one which he has been getting more frequently ever since this whole mess has first started.

"Fine," he concedes. Even he has to admit that having to fake being in a relationship is a much better alternative to getting increasingly extravagant, eerily personal gifts from a faceless obsessed fan three times a week for the unforeseeable future.

Izumi clasps her hands together, relieved that Tasuku, as always, is relatively easy to convince.

"Now, for your partner—"

"I think Tsumugi-san should do it."

It's Banri, looking up from his phone for the first time in the last few minutes. Tasuku and Tsumugi are looking at him with the same questioning look, as if he'd just suggested significant changes to their script the day before their first performance.

"I mean, it seems obvious, doesn't it?" he says, shrugging. His smile, easy and languid, is distinctively fox-like as he continues, "You have known each other for years, and you're close enough friends that I doubt it would raise much suspicion if you two suddenly started dating."

"Listen, Settsu—"

"I agree with Banri," Itaru chimes in, cutting Tasuku's objection short. "If it's Tsumugi, then there is no need for you two _and_ the rest of us to think up some elaborate backstory. It would be much easier for everyone." And then, as if stating something obvious, "The childhood friends route is usually the easiest route to unlock, after all."

"What do you think, Tasuku-san, Tsumugi-san?"

Tsumugi closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. It's a habit from their high school days, something their theater coach had taught them to help with their nerves before a big performance. "I don't mind," he replies a moment later, smiling. It's his Winter Troupe leader smile, determination spelled in its curve.

When he looks at Tasuku, it is with the look of someone who knows he has already won.

"It would be good acting practice, don't you agree, Tasuku?"

* * *

There are _logistics_ to two actors dating, pretense though it might be.

Izumi says they need to announce it, some way or another. Homare suggests they write a poem about it. This idea is immediately shot down—kindly, by Tsumugi; gruffly and with a cross look by Tasuku. Chikage, still a touch too casual, mentions _photos_ and _love hotels_ and _tabloids._ Tsumugi cranes his neck up to give him a pointed look, smiling beatifically until Chikage laughs and says that he's joking. Citron suggests a blog post announcing their honeymoon in Zahra ("We have the most beautiful summer vanilla!") and pouts when Tsuzuru tells him that Tasuku and Tsumugi are not pretending to be _married_ , there is no room in their budget for a return flight to Zahra, and it's _villa_ , not vanilla, Citron-san.

"What about an Instegram post?"

Kazunari looks the way he looks after he thinks of a particularly brilliant idea for a painting, one that will undoubtedly be displayed in his university's end-of-the-year art exhibition. His eyes are very bright. "It doesn't even have to be something overt, there's no need to make an official announcement—we can post something on our Instegram with Tax and Tsumu-tsumu acting lovey-dovey in the background and let the rumor mill do its job!"

"That's..." Tasuku tries to think of a flaw in Kazunari's plan, finding none. It is certainly the most realistic suggestion they have received by far, one that requires minimal preparation and will, hopefully, result in minimal embarrassment. "That's not a terrible idea."

Tsumugi, whose photos always come out blurry and who barely remembers his Instegram password, also finds himself in agreement. Kazunari would know these things better than he does, he supposes.

"I'll get Omimi, see you guys in the courtyard!" Kazunari grins, rushing up the stairs to fetch their resident photographer.

Tasuku groans, pressing his palms against his eyes until stars spark behind his eyelids. "This is impossible."

"It's not that bad," Tsumugi says, sympathetic. It's a tone Tasuku is familiar with—he would often come home after one of his workshops to find Tsumugi in the lounge, consoling one of the high schoolers after a particularly rough test with the same tone, the same soft eyes. "It's only for a few weeks, and only in public."

"It's not—" Tasuku starts, and stops himself because everything is too much and Tsumugi is simply trying to be supportive because that's how he is, how he has always been. Besides, Tsumugi doesn't _know,_ and Tasuku is not planning to let him.

"It's just acting," Tasuku says, putting an emphasis on every word. He can't tell if it's himself or Tsumugi he's trying to convince.

"Yes, Taa-chan," Tsumugi replies, his tone still sympathetic, his eyes still soft. "It's just acting."

* * *

The picture they end up posting, Tasuku loathes to admit, is _good_. More than good, even. Omi is a brilliant photographer, and even though Tasuku refuses to look at the Instegram post, he had asked Omi to send him a copy through LIME, anyway.

It's a deceptively simple photo, a candid shot of the acting company's members in the courtyard at dusk. And it _is_ candid, for the most part—Sakuya's animated gestures as he gushes about the latest play he watched to Tsuzuru and Muku are genuine, as is Tenma and Guy's discussion about the optimum soil pH for bonsai trees. Misumi, a blur in the corner of the picture, is looking for triangles with the help of a new stray cat he befriended.

Tasuku taps his phone screen, zooming in on the slightly blurry figures sitting on a bench at the back. Omi had told them to act natural, to fill the space with actual conversation, so they did. There was a particularly interesting foreign movie they had watched together the previous week, one Tsumugi loved so much he bought two tickets for another showing and dragged Tasuku to it. Tsumugi did not have to fake the way his eyes lit up as he talked about the clever use of foreshadowing in the beginning of the movie; he did not flinch when Tasuku interlaced their fingers together. Instead he squeezed Tasuku's hand, a gentle pressure against his knuckles, and Tasuku smiled—in spite of himself, in spite of the absurdity of the situation they're in.

Neither of them noticed the sound of the camera's shutter.

"I think we got it," Omi announced, and just like that everyone rushed over to look at the result.

"It's amazing, as expected of Omi-san!"

"This reminds me of the cover art for _Your Hand in Mine ~Twinkling Magical Love Story~_!!" 

"Their hands are triangles!"

Omi laughed, scratching the back of his neck as if flustered, and extracted himself from the adoring crowd to let Tsumugi and Tasuku look at the picture. "What do you think?" he asked, tilting his camera screen and zooming in, and for a split second Tasuku could feel his breath catching in his throat.

Omi is a very talented photographer, Tasuku knows that much. So it shouldn't be a surprise, really, that he could find the perfect angles to frame the moment and make it seem real. Next to him, Tsumugi hummed his approval.

They looked good together, in that picture.

Tsumugi has a habit of tilting his whole body forward, when he's excited. He was doing it again in the photo, leaning on their interlaced hands when he talked, pressing their arms together. Their faces were inches apart—Tasuku did not remember how his expression came to be, barely even recognized his gaze (warm, _too_ warm) and the subtle quirk of his lips as it stretched into a fond smile at Tsumugi's chattering. And Tsumugi—is a brilliant actor, excelling in impossibly subtle, delicate gestures that set him apart from everyone else. Tasuku knew this, yet it did not stop the loud thrumming of his heart when he looked at Tsumugi, and realized—

Basked in the golden light of sundown, Tsumugi's expression could be mistaken for love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pixiv has a lot of pining!tsumugi fics but i have a soft spot the size of ten soccer fields for pining!tasuku because have you _seen_ that man? 
> 
> this fic is completely self-indulgent but it's also the most fun piece i've written in a while, so i hope you enjoy this as much as i do! kudos and comments are very welcome, and please look forward to the next chapter(s) 💚💙


	2. platonic handholding for beginners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How long have you been dating Tsumu?"
> 
> Tasuku is not proud of how he sputters at the accusation. His heart is thrumming, loud and erratic, somewhere in his throat. "What?" He manages to make the word sound sharp, at least, a syllable split in two by the sheer force of his indignation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spoiler alert for tasuku's brother--i highly recommend reading [die by the sword event story](https://yaycupcake.com/a3/index.php?title=Die_by_the_Sword/Episode_1), beautifully translated by maria, if you want to know more about him! actually i highly recommend reading die by the sword if you love tasuku and/or ship tasutsumu at all, because it's such a lovely tasuku-centric event story with heapings of tasutsumu on top. 
> 
> as always thank you krsh for being the loveliest beta 💙💚

The rumor mill is doing its job well.

The rumor mill is doing its job _too_ well, and Izumi is now on the phone with yet another local tabloid looking for a scoop. She perfected her lines three tabloids ago, her voice straddling the line between firm and apologetic as she refuses offer after offer. Untrained ears would find her apologies sincere; she is a better actor than she ever gives herself credit for.

They have all agreed to keep everything as low-key as possible, for now—just enough to deter Tasuku's _secret admirer_ ; they don’t want this to be splashed on Veludo Way’s notoriously catty gossip columns. Even now, Tasuku finds this laid-back approach to publicity jarring, a far cry from the meticulously planned and executed media strategies that every actor in Godza has to follow. Godza hires professionals for this, consultants in tailored suits who crunch numbers and turn interactions into tabulations, who deliver weekly reports of social media statistics and have the chief editors of all relevant publications on speed dial.

Mankai Company's media strategy, on the other hand, is Kazunari with a laptop and his phone.

Tasuku knows Kazunari had fought Sakyo for a budget to invest in marketing, citing _engagement_ and _click-through rate_ and _share of voice_ . Sakyo hadn’t budged, not even after Kazunari called Yuki in to be his reinforcement. He had looked dejected then—Tasuku could almost _see_ his ears drooping, like a puppy whose owner was denying him toys.

He looks anything but dejected now, sitting cross-legged on the lounge's floor with his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, flanked by Sakuya and Muku. They are scrolling through the comments on Mankai's Instegram, pausing every now and then to giggle at one particular comment or another.

"Are you really sure you don't want to see this?" Kazunari calls out to Tasuku where he is standing in the kitchen, blending his second protein shake of the day. The whirring of the blender is, unfortunately, too soft for him to realistically pretend he hasn't heard Kazunari.

"No," he replies, and wishes futilely once again for Tsumugi to be here. Tsumugi would know the right words to say, would saunter to the lounge and let the others show him exactly which comments were making them burst into giggling fits. Tsumugi would laugh along with them and not let this affect him, because there would be no reason for it to.

But Tsumugi is not here, away for a tutoring job and errands he needs to run. The giggling fits in the lounge still haven't ceased.

Kazunari looks like he's going to invite Tasuku to the lounge once again, but Izumi chooses that moment to hang up on the gossip journalist on the other side of the line. She sighs as she flops down onto the armchair next to the sofa, absently rubbing her ear.

"Well, I guess we could say that the plan works, so far," she says, and Tasuku breathes in relief as the three of them readily shift their attention to her.

"The responses on social media are great too! Kazunari-san, can you show the Director that one comment where—" Sakuya scoots over so Izumi can get a clearer view of the laptop screen.

"People are really supportive!" Muku adds with genuine enthusiasm, as if he has forgotten that this entire thing is not, in fact, real.

Izumi—thankfully—doesn't giggle at the comments, neither does she attempt to hide the way her eyes light up with fond amusement, the way she looks at them after every performance. "I'm glad we have such supportive fans," she says, turning her head to address Tasuku. "What do you think, Tasuku-san?"

"I don't read internet comments." 

It's the truth. He never did, back in Godza; he isn't going to start now. He _isn't_ , despite Sakuya and Muku's wide, hopeful eyes; despite how he spent last night laying awake and staring at the picture on his phone, the brightness of its screen dimmed enough not to disturb Tsumugi's sleep.

"I'm going to my room," he announces. Kazunari whines loudly, but he also whines loudly every time Tasuku rejects his ideas for a gravure photobook, and Tasuku thinks he has built an immunity to it by now. He also has an acting workshop to prepare for—he tells them as much, climbing the stairs to his room before anyone else can protest, before he can notice the look Izumi gives him, curious and probing.

* * *

Tasuku spends the next two hours jotting down etude scenarios and reviewing the background of the workshop's participants—college students, mostly; theater club members from local universities. A few of them come from two, three towns over; they'd come to the workshop in wrinkled clothes, complaining about having sore necks after sleeping in their cars for a night or two. Their passion is as familiar as it is comforting, reminding him of the nights he and Tsumugi spent sleeping in a rented jeep on their way to an acting workshop in another prefecture, of spending their hard-earned tips from street acting on discounted bento boxes and cheap beers.

He's about to finish outlining the workshop's materials when his phone begins to vibrate insistently in his back pocket.

"Hel—"

"I can't believe you didn't tell me!" Fuyuki's voice is so loud it crackles. "I had to find out about my baby brother's love life from my _colleagues,_ can you imagine—"

"Brother," Tasuku says, as calmly as possible, even as the words _baby brother_ make his brows twitch. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

Fuyuki sniffles exaggeratedly. "I pulled a double shift yesterday so I'm home early today, and please don't change the subject! You owe your big brother an explanation, you know."

"I don't even know what you're talking about."

"How long have you been dating Tsumu?"

Tasuku is not proud of how he sputters at the accusation. His heart is thrumming, loud and erratic, somewhere in his throat. " _What_?" He manages to make the word sound sharp, at least, a syllable split in two by the sheer force of his indignation.

"There's a photo of you two—well, not _of_ you two in particular, and I guess you were too busy making goo goo eyes at Tsumu to notice the camera, but it was posted to Mankai's Instegram account yesterday and Nakajima-san showed it to me this morning and there are all these comments—"

Oh. _Oh_.

Tasuku can feel his headache returning with vengeance; he rubs his temple and forces his words out with painstaking enunciation. "It's a fake photo."

Fuyuki is silent for so long that Tasuku has to check whether his brother has accidentally hung up on him. He hasn't.

"If this is your idea of a joke—"

"It's not."

He explains everything to Fuyuki, then—the gifts, Tsumugi's suggestion, their plan. "You _can't_ tell anyone," he warns, even though they both know Fuyuki won't.

"So you two are not actually dating," Fuyuki's voice has lost all of its teasing edge. He sounds almost disappointed; it sets Tasuku on edge for reasons he doesn't understand.

"Of course not," he replies, gruffly. "You're being ridiculous—Tsumugi is my _friend._ "

Fuyuki's sigh sounds staticky over the phone. " _Oh_ , Tasuku," he says, and Tasuku _knows_ that tone. Fuyuki had said the same thing in that exact tone before, sitting across the dining room table as Tasuku announced he would be moving out for Godza. Fuyuki had _looked_ at him as if his heart ached on Tasuku's behalf. Tasuku had to look away as he stormed out, smothering the tiny voice in his head chastising him for this tantrum, this misdirected anger.

There is none of that anger in him now, only a disconcerting feeling of unease, knowing that Fuyuki has once again realized something he doesn't— _can't_ —grasp.

"Well," Fuyuki's exasperated fondness has returned to his voice; Tasuku could imagine him raking a hand through his hair, the corner of his mouth twitching. "I suppose I should have expected this from the two of you. Just don't overdo it, okay?"

"It's only for a few weeks, at most." And then, "We are both actors; we know what we are doing."

Fuyuki hums, noncommittal. Tasuku half-expects an argument; none comes. "Tell me if the situation with your fans escalates, okay? I'll see if there's anything I can do to help," he says, suddenly sounding every inch the police officer he is. "I'm going to call Tsumu too, later, and _honestly,_ you two are so—"

"Brother," Tasuku really, _really_ does not need Fuyuki's input on any of this. "I really should get going."

"Okay, okay. Just—make sure that you're really thinking this through, okay? _Both_ of you."

"Stop being such a worrywart."

"Can you blame me? My baby brother is out there plotting dramatic schemes to thwart a mysterious fan and who knows what would happen if you two—"

Tasuku hangs up on him.

* * *

Fuyuki texts him later ( _Rude!!!!!!!_ with seven exclamation points, followed by half a dozen stickers of a sulking polar bear, too childish a move for someone who is nearing _thirty_ , what is he even thinking). Tasuku stifles a smile and pointedly ignores the rest of Fuyuki's texts.

He loathes to admit it, but his brother has a point—they haven't really thought this through, beyond the Instegram post. Maybe that's the reason for his unease: the fact that he is wholly unprepared for a role. This, too, is acting, after all, an elaborate etude with no script and too many independent variables to be accounted for. What they need are some ground rules, some framework he can hold on to whenever Tsumugi _smiles_ at him and he feels the ground drop beneath the weight of its warmth.

He tells Tsumugi about this idea the second he comes into their room.

Tsumugi blinks. "Sure," he says as he unceremoniously drops his tote bag on his desk. "What do you have in mind, Taa-chan?"

"Don't call me Taa-chan," Tasuku retorts, mostly out of reflex. Tsumugi grins like he does not hear him, not even pretending to be cowed by the glare Tasuku sends in his direction.

"What do you usually do on a date?"

Tsumugi's laugh is light, an air bubble on still waters. "Aren't you more experienced at this than me?" Tasuku is not even going to justify that with a response. 

"We watched movies, went to the amusement park a few times, the zoo, a few museums...nothing unusual, really."

There's that feeling again, an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach. Tasuku knows it shouldn't bother him, but it does—that there's a version of Tsumugi he will never see, next to a girl he has never met in a city he has never visited. Tsumugi never did tell him of the years he spent away from theater beyond snippets he'd mention in passing; in return, Tasuku stays mum about Godza. A silent, unspoken agreement between them to sequester the years void of their shared memories away from what they have now.

"I think we need a more practical approach, though," Tsumugi continues. "Friends go to those places together all the time—we went to the amusement park together too before, remember? What we need is a physical display."

Tasuku nods. Tsumugi is right—and it's not just amusement parks, either. He can count on one hand the number of times he has been to the movies or the theater without Tsumugi in the past year; he knows it's the same for Tsumugi. It's a comfortable, familiar routine—they’ll watch whatever catches their interest and dissect it during a meal after, or a few drinks. Sometimes Itaru will join them, loosening his tie and sliding into the seat next to them as he whips out his phone and complains about how nerdy they both are until they change the subject.

"So we need to act like a couple." He thinks of the many, many romance roles he had in Godza and the painstaking directions its directors had barked out at him, of their brutal criticisms of everything that was wrong with Tasuku's portrayal of love—his gaze wasn't soft enough, the gentleness of his smile forced, the angle of his stage kisses all wrong. It hasn't gotten easier over time, or more comfortable—the memory of it alone is enough to make him shudder, even now.

"I mean—we don't have to go overboard with it, if it makes you uncomfortable." Tsumugi is not looking at him.

"It's—it's fine," he says, because they are doing this for him, after all. Because they are both professionals. Because it's Tsumugi. "What do you think of handholding?"

Tsumugi's laugh is so sudden that even he seems surprised by its sound, his elbow knocking the table with a loud _thud_ that makes him laugh even harder even as he tears up from the pain. "Sorry, I just—" he gasps out in between wheezing breaths. "That's so nostalgic."

Tasuku scowls. "Don't laugh about _that,"_ he chides. His face feels warm from the memory alone, the ridiculous lengths they went to get out of that mind-bending timeloop.

"Sorry, sorry—" Tsumugi wipes his tears with his sleeve, taking a deep breath to muffle his laughter. "That's a good idea, though—I was about to suggest the same thing."

 _Good_ , Tasuku thinks. Handholding is safe; handholding is what they used to do when they were much younger because Tsumugi has always been too excitable for someone with a terrible sense of balance, and their parents always told them to look after each other. Tasuku remembers holding Tsumugi’s hand whenever they went to the beach, their palms sticky with salt water as they trod the shallow water looking for colorful shells. Tsumugi got rid of bugs for him in return, throwing them out and solemnly vowing not to tell anyone of Tasuku's fear of them, or of the time Tasuku nearly cried when a beetle fell from a tree and crawled on to his neck.

He can handle this. It's _Tsumugi_ , after all—Tasuku wants to stand next to him, even now, even when there's something that doesn't quite settle at the pit of his stomach at the thought of holding Tsumugi's hand. The feeling will pass soon enough, once they get their scenario down to pat. And if it doesn't—well, he can always take comfort in the fact that this, whatever _this_ is, could never be worse than what he had to endure in Godza.

* * *

Tasuku finds out the very next morning that holding Tsumugi's hand is, in curious, inexplicable ways, worse than what he had to endure in Godza.

He is used to people staring at him on the street, is good at ignoring them. But there is no way to ignore the press of Tsumugi's palm against his, the curl of his fingers between Tasuku's own as they walk through the shopping district. It's still early in the morning that quite a few of the stores will only be open in an hour or two, the crowd so thin that it barely constitutes a crowd at all. Tsumugi thinks it will be a good way to test the waters and get the hang of this; Tasuku had thought so too when they left the dorm together, a chorus of _good luck_ s with varying excitement levels behind them.

He is having second thoughts about it now, about this entire facade.

Tsumugi has long, bony fingers. Tasuku has never really noticed them before, beyond the precise, exacting way Tsumugi uses them in his acting. He notices them now, in striking detail—how his fingertips are cooler than Tasuku thought they would be, despite knowing that Tsumugi has complained repeatedly, only half-joking, about having poor circulation. Tsumugi's hands are smaller than his own, but their calluses are rougher; something inside Tasuku twists tighter with every infinitesimal brush of those calluses on the back of his hand.

"What do you think, Tasuku?"

Tsumugi looks at him expectantly, the way he looks at him after every practice. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Tsumugi is asking him for his input on this, as if it's a stage direction like any other. There are usually a dozen things Tasuku would comment on, details they need to tweak and adjust, notes written in the margin of their scripts in minute detail about cues and blocking.

But there is no script for this, and the warmth of Tsumugi’s palm is all he can think of.

“It’s just handholding,” he says by way of explanation, more to himself than Tsumugi. 

“Hmmm,” Tsumugi’s brows arch, as if he had been expecting Tasuku to come up with bullet points on how to improve their technique, but he nods and doesn’t ask him any further questions. “It _is_ just handholding,” he echoes in agreement. “Do you want to grab some breakfast? There’s this new cafe—” 

Tasuku lets himself be led through the shopping district, only marginally aware of how the crowd starts to thicken around them. Some people whisper when they look at them, though, and maybe that’s the reason why Tsumugi’s grip tightens on his hand. Maybe that’s why he finds himself a bit too tense, still, even though he _is_ used to this. 

He doesn't quite relax into Tsumugi's touch the way he wants to, in the end, but he doesn't let go of Tsumugi's hand for the rest of their walk.

Tsumugi doesn't let go, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 95% tasuku's homosexual spiral and 5% plot but it is what it is.
> 
> tasuku being terrified of bugs is, unfortunately, not canon, but tasuku and tsumugi holding hands at the beach when they're younger is. so is the two of them going on a road trip in college.
> 
> kudos and comments are really appreciated, and thank you so so much for reading! remember to stay hydrated and take care of yourself 💙💚


	3. relationship troubleshooting 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think maybe the two of you can try other things, as well, see if it helps with the issue."
> 
> "Like what?" Tasuku is frowning now. "Kissing?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long, irl responsibilities have been...a pain to say the least ;; but this chapter is 4k+ words long, i hope that makes up for the lateness of this update o/
> 
> thank you chi for beta-ing this chapter!

Tasuku is a great actor.

People envy him for his height and the broadness of his shoulders, the way he commands attention through his presence alone. _Takato Tasuku is built for the lead role_ , a journalist once wrote. Next to the feature-length article is a photo of Tasuku under a golden spotlight, a crown on his head and a sword in his hand, looking every inch like a prince out of the pages of a fairytale.

Tsumugi bought the magazine the day it was published, a week after Tasuku's debut as Godza's top star. He keeps a clipping of the article still, in a nondescript folder, pale green and unlabeled, tucked safely in the bottom drawer of his desk. The article is as grandiose as Tasuku's performance itself—the journalist did not hold back from waxing poetics about the sharpness of his gaze or the poise in his stance as he stood, dressed in a richly-embroidered doublet that emphasized his muscular back.

It's a good article, a step above the scandalous stories featured in most of Veludo Way's tabloids. Tsumugi found himself nodding along to certain passages; he loved how even its most saccharine compliments rang sincere. But it is also insistent in its portrayal of Tasuku as a prodigal star, one who shows up on the first day of practice already knowing all his lines, who is born to play aristocratic knights and gallant princes, as cocky as he is handsome. Those who know Tasuku well would know how he would hate that portrayal, and Tsumugi knows him better than most.

Tasuku is a great actor, this Tsumugi knows by heart. But he has stood by Tasuku's side on stage when his voice still cracked embarrassingly on every other syllable; before puberty had deepened his voice the way rain polishes stone. When the roundness of his face still hasn't given way to the severe cut of his jawline and he has yet to grow out of the awkward gangliness of a teenager. Tasuku had been a great actor, even then.

But he isn't built for the lead role—no one really is. Tasuku carves out his place on stage by himself, determination propelling him forward as he smoothes out his mistakes and his nerves through hours and months and years of practice. He plays a pauper as well as he plays a prince, a monster as well as he plays a knight—Tsumugi knows this because he has seen it happen, has spent a lifetime seeing him grow into an actor so brilliant and beautiful that it's impossible to look away.

He knows, too, that the truth, not glamorous enough for the glossy paper of the magazine, is this: Tasuku doesn't do things in half, not when it comes to acting.

So Tsumugi understands, really, the frustration that buzzes under Tasuku's skin as they return to the dorm, still holding each other's hand. The first day of any performance is always filled with gaps and mistakes, and Tsumugi knows Tasuku will ruminate over each one, not satisfied until he irons every single one of them out until it's almost impossible to tell what's acting and what's real.

Tsumugi understands, too, that there are times when Tasuku would direct this frustration inward, retreating into himself until he's ready to turn to other people for advice. So he throws an apologetic smile in the general direction of the lounge as Tasuku wordlessly untangles their hands and goes straight to their room before anyone could ask him how everything went. He nods and says _of course, Taa-chan_ , when Tasuku asks him to go out together again, to the park and to a quaint restaurant serving a variety of incredibly delicious egg dishes to a performance by one of their acquaintances from their university, holding each other's hand each time.

But there is the tenseness, still, the milliseconds where their fingers brush against each other and Tasuku jolts, almost imperceptibly, as if electric current runs through Tsumugi's fingertips. Tsumugi watches as Tasuku's scowl gets deeper and his frustration gets more palpable every time it happens; he wonders if it would be better to intervene, after all.

 _Seven days_ , he decides at last. Seven days for Tasuku to try and sort this out by himself before he steps in.

In the meantime he gives Tasuku his most disarming smile as he links their hands together, and tries not to think about what Tasuku's touch means to him.

* * *

On the seventh day they head to the movies.

It's an odd choice, Tsumugi thinks. Odder still when Tasuku buys them two tickets to a popular romance movie—neither of them is particularly interested in the genre, even though Tsumugi has read the reviews and knows that the movie is well-liked among critics and moviegoers alike. But Tasuku approaches the ticketing booth with the square-shouldered determination of a knight riding to battle, and Tsumugi can't find it in himself to _ask_.

"I'm going to grab some snacks," Tasuku says, untangling their hands. The warmth of his palm lingers on Tsumugi's own.

"Okay," Tsumugi flashes him a smile. He watches Tasuku's back as he leaves and sighs, propping his cheek on his hand as he runs the scenario in his mind: the two of them in Tasuku's car, a gentle inquiry asked in the tone he knows he uses when he needs to be Tsukioka Tsumugi, leader of the Winter Troupe.

 _I know this situation isn't ideal_ , he would say. _I know maybe you're uncomfortable, but you can't tense up every time I touch you. Talk to me and let me help._

"—spacing out." There's a shock of coldness on his cheek and Tsumugi looks up to find Tasuku towering over him with an armful of popcorn bowl and two _very_ cold cans of soda. There's a ghost of a smile on his face as Tsumugi's hand flies to his cheek.

"Taa-chan!" Tsumugi huffs, rubbing the cold spot.

"The movie is about to start. Let's go, Tsumu."

Tsumugi rises to his feet. He doesn't offer Tasuku his hand.

"Let's go."

* * *

They finish the popcorn before the movie is even half-way through. Tsumugi puts the container in the empty seat beside him and rests his hand on the armrest, eyes fixated on the movie. It's more enjoyable than he thought it would be—when the protagonist confesses, gently, quietly, without the extravagance usually found in movies like this, he finds himself tearing up, a little bit.

But then there's a hand on top of his own, and it's Tsumugi's turn to jolt, head snapping to the side to look at his childhood friend. In the dark of the movie studio, Tasuku's expression is unreadable.

 _What does this mean,_ he wants to ask. Tasuku's hands are bigger than his own, covering it almost completely. It reminds him of the day this first started, the sunny afternoon in the courtyard when Tasuku had looked at him with an expression as soft as the last rays of sunset.

He cannot tell what Tasuku is thinking—it unsettles him. Or maybe it's the way he can hear his own heartbeats in the quieter moments of the movie, the way bright bursts of light during certain scenes color the sharp angles of Tasuku's face.

Or maybe it's this: Tasuku's hand is warm and impossible to ignore, his hold loose enough that Tsumugi can slip his hand out of it, if he wants to.

He doesn't want to.

* * *

They get out of the movies in silence. Tsumugi is holding on to Tasuku's arm, out of necessity more than anything else, because Tasuku is walking faster than usual, his stride longer as they make their way to the parking lot. He's angling his face away from Tsumugi, but it's impossible to miss the flush spreading across his cheeks, and Tsumugi wonders if the heat he's feeling means that there's a blush on his face to match Tasuku's own.

They get in the car, and it takes him an entire minute to remember what he's promised himself to do. The scenario he has thought of and planned—it doesn't account for Tasuku's hand on his for half the length of the movie, doesn't account for how _nice_ it feels in the cold of the movie studio.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" He asks at last, when the silence that stretches between them hangs a little too long, too thin, as if it's seconds away from snapping. It sounds harsher than he wants it to be, and Tasuku's hand stills where it's resting on the ignition.

"...You noticed." Every word is slow, deliberate, as if Tasuku has to drag them out syllable by syllable.

"You tensed up every time we held hands—of course I notice," Tsumugi says. _Until today,_ he doesn't say. _What was_ that, _Tasuku?_

Tasuku's jaws tighten, and Tsumugi continues. Softer, this time. "I want to help," he starts. "If there's anything I can do, anything I need to improve from my own performance—"

"No," Tasuku cuts, shaking his head as he finally, finally looks into Tsumugi's eyes. "No—Tsumugi, you're perfect."

It's _unfair_ , how Tasuku can say things like that and mean it, as if stating a fact. The grass is green, the sun is hot, _you're perfect._ The heat returns to his cheek and Tsumugi has to avert his gaze, looking anywhere but Tasuku's bright, earnest eyes.

"Then what happened," he asks to the empty spot above Tasuku's left shoulder.

"I..." A sigh. "I have been having...issues trying to get into character."

The admission is so unexpected that Tsumugi's eyes snap to Tasuku's own in an instant, wide in surprise and confusion, his burning cheeks temporarily forgotten. Tasuku doesn't _not_ get into character—it simply doesn't happen. "What are you talking about?"

"It's...I don't know how to explain it," Tasuku continues with the same slowness, hands clenching and unclenching. "I keep having—thoughts. They interfere and I can't—they make it difficult for me to focus."

"What kind of thoughts?" The impossibility of it leaves Tsumugi reeling, feeling suddenly off-balance. Maybe this situation affects Tasuku more than he lets on, he tries to reason. Tasuku who has never been good at dealing with his fans, let alone one with this level of obsession. It's the only explanation he can think of, the only one that makes even the slightest bit of sense in his head.

"Nothing specific, just—" Tasuku drops his gaze to the bottom half of Tsumugi's face—the tip of his nose, his lips. "I thought it would go away in time, with different approaches—"

Tsumugi thinks of the dark movie theater and Tasuku's hand on his. "Did it work?"

"...I don't know. I don't think so."

For a moment Tasuku looks lost, frustration giving way to consternation. He's telling the truth, but the truth feels to Tsumugi like a piece of fiction, an improbable practical joke both of them know Tasuku isn't capable of pulling. And maybe Tasuku picks up the way Tsumugi's expression twists in confusion because he continues to speak, as if an explanation would unveil itself to them in the space between his words.

"If we keep practicing—"

"No." The word cuts into the air between them. "It's been a week, Tasuku. We need to find another way."

"What do you think we should do, then?"

Tsumugi considers this. Tasuku, he knows, would not stop trying until he's satisfied with his performance, until he wakes up one day and forgets that he is not in love with his childhood friend. And Tsumugi would let him, until the time has come to bring him back to reality, except this entire performance hinges on borrowed time—the potential a public slip-up in the near future would be disastrous. It's almost too easy to imagine the headlines, the baseless accusations; neither of them has forgotten how vicious rumors in Veludo Way had been during Winter Troupe's first performance. It's not an experience they are eager to repeat.

"Have you talked to the Director about this?" The fact that he's at loss about what to do bothers him almost as much as Tasuku's admission had. There had never been a time when he couldn't see through the cracks in Tasuku's acting and help patch them up, until now. He had taken a small pleasure in his ability to decipher Tasuku, to have an entire gallery of Tasuku's expressions memorized and catalogued—those don't serve him any use, now. He's coming up blank, and a selfish part of him—the one that was secretly pleased when their theater club senior told them she thought they are going to act together forever, the one that feels lightheaded whenever Tasuku's firm gaze lands on him—shudders at the thought of these familiar comforts slipping out of his grasp.

 _This isn't about you_ , he chastises himself.

"Maybe the Director can tell us—"

"Us?" For a brief second a look of unease flits across Tasuku's face. Dread lies cold and heavy in Tsumugi's stomach; he forces himself to breathe through it.

 _This isn't about you—_ more insistent, this time.

"This is a two-person act, isn't it?" His voice is level, at least. "I told you—I want to help as much as I can."

"You're right," Tasuku's reply feels like a copout. He starts the car engine, then, keeping his eyes on the road. "Of course you are."

They drive back to the dorm in silence.

* * *

Izumi's sunny smile dissipates when she sees them.

"Tsumugi-san, Tasuku-san." She closes her book. "Is everything okay?"

"We need your advice," Tasuku says in lieu of a greeting. He doesn't wait for Izumi to ask him to elaborate before he continues, his explanation rushing out of him like a flood. Tsumugi chimes in occasionally, elaborating on some details Tasuku has missed, and watches as Izumi's frown gets deeper by the minute.

"That's...unexpected," she says at last. "We all thought that by now maybe you would—"

Izumi seems to notice the slip of the tongue at the same time that Tsumugi does. Her eyes widen in panic for a moment before she scrambles to smooth her expression back into contemplative concern—an admirable attempt, but Tsumugi sees an opening and seizes it.

"We?"

Izumi winces. "I have been talking to a few members about this...situation," she replies. "And we expected that, well, things would go smoothly between the two of you."

It is not a lie insomuch as it's an omission of the whole truth. There are a dozen new questions on the tip of Tsumugi's tongue, but Tasuku speaks before a single one could slip out.

"What do you think we have to do, now?"

"Um—maybe the issue is variation," Izumi says. Tasuku's gaze sharpens, his arms tightening as he tilts his head slightly to Izumi's direction. She shifts under the weight of his rapt attention.

"For Tasuku-san to be having this issue is highly unusual, and I think—" she pauses, biting the inside of her cheek. "Well, I might be wrong, of course, but what you two have been doing—it's static and repetitive, and there isn't much you can do to make the gesture your own, to make it natural."

"I think maybe the two of you can try other things, as well, see if it helps with the issue."

"Like what?" Tasuku is frowning now. "Kissing?"

It's reflexive, Tsumugi knows. A suggestion like any other, based on a linear thought process. But knowing it doesn't stop the sudden hammering of his heart, the flush that makes its way up from his neck to his ears. From the way Izumi blinks and the speed with which her gaze shifts between the two of them, he can tell that it surprises her as much as it surprises him.

Tasuku seems to realize what he had said a second too late. "You think it's a bad idea."

"Oh—oh no, no, not at all," Izumi is holding on to the table's edge, as if the physical act of it could counterbalance this. "Maybe stage kissing could work, if both of you are comfortable with it...?" She trails off, still blinking a little too rapidly.

Tsumugi can't tell if he's comfortable with it, which is ridiculous—acting, for him, is not about being _comfortable_. It never has been. Yet the prospect of kissing Tasuku— _stage kissing_ , he corrects—fills him with trepidation. The cold dread returns with vengeance, the irrational fear of a shift in their relationship. He steals a glance at Tasuku, expecting to see a frown. Instead he looks lost in thought, his gaze downcast and contemplative.

"Listen, how about you two take today and tomorrow off from, uh, this," Izumi makes a vague hand gesture. "And try to discuss it? Maybe a break will do both of you good—I know you've been going out almost every day this week. You two can tell me about the plan later—I'm sure everything will turn out fine." Her smile is warm and genuine; she meant what she said.

"Okay," Tasuku shrugs, casual, and Tsumugi wishes he could at least pretend to possess the same composure.

"How about you, Tsumugi-san?"

His smile feels a little too thin, brittle as spun sugar. "Okay," he echoes.

* * *

Tsumugi tries to busy himself the second they return to their room. He waters the plants, tidies up his desk, folds the laundry, but he can feel Tasuku's gaze prickling the back of his neck and he knows he's only delaying the inevitable.

"You're uncomfortable with my suggestion."

It doesn't sound like an accusation. Tasuku states it as something obvious, and their conversation in the car springs unbidden in Tsumugi's mind— _you're perfect_ , Tasuku has said. How Tsumugi wishes it were true.

"Acting is not about comfort." They both know he's avoiding the question.

"It's not, but..." Tasuku sighs, hesitation slipping into his voice. "I've already asked too much from you."

But has he? It is Tsumugi who has given him the idea of a fake relationship; he has agreed to play this role, has promised to help. What kind of friend would he be if he abandons Tasuku now just because a part of him, an irrational, illogical part of him, panics at the thought of Tasuku's lips against his?

"This is my idea in the first place," Tsumugi says. "And I agree with the Director, maybe we do need to branch out a little bit. Your suggestion just caught me by surprise, is all," he laughs, but Tasuku doesn't laugh with him.

"I'm sorry," Tasuku says instead, even though he has nothing to be sorry about. "It's the first thing that crossed my mind. In Godza, I..." He trails off, but Tsumugi knows exactly what he's about to say. He has seen them, after all, the glorious, dramatic romance Godza is extremely fond of. He _owns_ the DVDs of those plays, a line of them neatly arranged in alphabetical order on the shelf next to his desk. He still watches them with Muku, sometimes; Muku wide-eyed adoration at Tasuku performance is a wonderful thing, one that Tsumugi understands completely.

Tasuku once asked him why he bought those DVDs and keeps them still, with almost as much care as he gives to his plants. Tsumugi had answered, half-joking, that he loves Tasuku's acting in them, all gilded in gold and silver; Tasuku had huffed in half-hearted exasperation and left it at that. But now they serve him as a reminder: even when he gave up on acting, he did not give up on Tasuku. And he isn't going to start now, no—this time he will be the one to push Tasuku forward.

"I'm not as familiar with stage kissing as I would have liked," he says. Tasuku opens his mouth, but Tsumugi waves a hand to shush him. "Don't misunderstand—what I'm saying is I'm willing to learn. It would be a good skill to have in my back pocket, don't you think?"

Tasuku looks— _flabbergasted_ is the right word for it, Tsumugi thinks. He gapes, looking at Tsumugi like he has grown a second head. "Are you sure—"

Tsumugi nods, stands up and approaches Tasuku before the hammering of his heart could catch up to him. "I would be learning from you, wouldn't I? It would be fine." He could almost hear the sound of his own heartbeats, and Tsumugi isn't sure it would be _fine._ But they're both professional actors and close friends—he tries to focus on those facts, clings to them like a lifeline.

They're standing almost toe to toe, now. Tsumugi has to crane his neck up to look at Tasuku's face—he's so close that Tsumugi could count the individual lashes framing his eyes. "Teach me," he demands.

Tasuku sighs, but he doesn't say no. Instead he leans down and places a hand on the side of Tsumugi's neck with a tenderness that makes Tsumugi shiver, dragging his thumb down and letting it rest gently on Tsumugi's lips. Tsumugi expects himself to tense up at the touch, but he finds himself leaning into the warmth of Tasuku's palm. His eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not going to actually kiss you," Tasuku explains as he tilts Tsumugi's head up. His voice is deep and steady. "What I'm going to do instead is—"

He leans down, and Tsumugi has to cling on the front of Tasuku's shirt to prevent himself from flailing as realizations hit him all at once.

First: he has performed together with Tasuku in many, many plays, but this is the first time they have ever been this close to each other.

Second: the tip of Tasuku's nose is red and sunburned from his daily runs.

Third: Tsumugi wants to kiss him.

He rises to his tiptoes and cups Tasuku's face with both hands, feeling Tasuku pulls his hand away from Tsumugi's face as his eyes widen in shock, his pupils dark and wide. Their lips brush against each other's, soft and feather-light. There are no fireworks, no sudden deluge of desire, no butterflies in his stomach. 

Instead the enormity of the moment overwhelms him, every single sensation startling in its definition—Tasuku's chapped lips, the way his eyelashes brush against Tsumugi's cheeks. Tasuku makes a noise, deep in his throat, as he moves his hands to hold on Tsumugi's waist and leans deeper into the kiss. Tsumugi tightens his hold of Tasuku's face in return, taking a tentative swipe of Tasuku's lower lip with the tip of his tongue. But Tasuku pulls away in the next second, his eyes wide in panic.

"No," he says, staggering back as if Tsumugi just pushes him away. "This is a mistake, I shouldn't—"

Cold dread slams its way back into Tsumugi's chest, filling his lungs with ice water. He goes very still, the tips of his fingers numb. _You've ruined this,_ a voice in his head says, sharp and hoarse and ugly. He wants, more than anything, to reach out, but his hands feel like lead where they lay on his sides.

"Tasuku—" his voice wavers.

"I'm sorry," Tasuku says, and there's a tremor in his voice, too, even though there's nothing for him to apologize for. "I'm sorry—I need to clear my head." He's looking everywhere but at Tsumugi when he says it.

"...You're going out?"

"I—yes. I need a moment to—I'm so sorry, Tsumu."

 _Don't go_ , Tsumugi wants to say. _We can forget this ever happened_. But his voice catches in his throat and he watches, numb, as Tasuku turns around and walks out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

He doesn't come back to the dorm that night. Tsumugi curls up in his bed, feeling more miserable than he has ever felt in years, and stares blankly at the texts that light up his phone screen.

**From: Fuyuki-kun (22:13)**

tasuku is going back home for the night???

**From: Fuyuki-kun (22:13)**

is everything ok 

**From: Fuyuki-kun (22:54)**

i'll talk to him in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tasuku and tsumugi share a grand total of 0 (zero) brain cells in this fic. i apologize on their behalf. 
> 
> as always comments and kudos are appreciated 💚💙 don't forget to wear a mask and wash your hands! and pls talk to me about tasutsumu on twitter [@chumuwugi](https://twitter.com/chumuwugi)...i care them...


	4. brother knows best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuyuki knows how heartbreak looks on Tasuku’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took fifty million years to finish i uhhhh have no excuse. but i hope you enjoy some brotherly bonding ft. fuyuki's love and relationship advice corner regardless!! 
> 
> this chapter contains major spoilers for [die by the sword](https://yaycupcake.com/a3/index.php?title=Die_by_the_Sword/Episode_1) event story which you can (and should!!) read on the wiki. 
> 
> thank you krsh for the beta!

Fuyuki knows how heartbreak looks on Tasuku’s face.

He wishes he doesn’t. He wishes he could take the hurt away, patch Tasuku up the way he did when they were much younger and Tasuku had twisted his ankle from ice-skating. He wishes Tasuku had let him try, on that day a few years ago when he was hollowed out by loss, haunted by the ghosts of everything he should have said but didn’t.

He knows, the second he sees it, that it is the same heartbreak that twists Tasuku’s expression into something pained and bitter, his hurt written like fault lines in the dark of his eyes. The bright fluorescent light of the porch seems to wash away what little color is left on his face; for a moment he looks more like an apparition wearing Tasuku’s face than a man. He doesn’t wear a jacket, despite the chilly night breeze, doesn’t seem to bring anything with him except for the helmet under his arm.

“I’m staying here for the night,” Tasuku says briskly, as if he hasn’t just showed up unannounced at almost ten in the evening. Fuyuki lets him in, watches in contemplative silence as Tasuku unlaces his shoes and puts his helmet away, looking as lost as he had been a few years ago, just after--

“Does Tsumugi know you’ll be staying here?” Fuyuki asks, masking his worry and suspicion with a casual nonchalance.

The lines of Tasuku’s shoulders are so rigid that the upper half of his body jerks backwards when he flinches at the mention of Tsumugi’s name. His pupils are blown wide, as if Fuyuki had just slapped him open-handed across the face.

“Why does it matter whether Tsumugi knows I’m here?” Tasuku retorts, turning his face away, but that alone could not hide his hurt. His tone is churlish, his expression guarded as he moves past Fuyuki and into the brightness of the living room. Tasuku is taller than his brother, his shoulders slightly broader, but Fuyuki has never seen him look as small as he does now, standing in the middle of the room with his shoulders hunched and teeth gritted so tightly that Fuyuki’s jaw aches just from looking at him.

“He’s your roommate at the dorm, isn’t he? Wouldn’t he be worried if he doesn’t know where you’re going to spend the night?” Fuyuki says, reasonably. Tsumugi is many things to his brother, but _roommate_ seems to be the safest descriptor to use, in this moment, rooted as it is in a truth that Tasuku does not feel the need to run away from.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tasuku shrugs, as if he could make himself believe in it by saying it out loud. He is a brilliant actor but a terrible liar. He always has been—he is fooling no one, but Fuyuki nods, anyway, lets him have this because reassurance is what Tasuku needs, tonight.

There will always bee time to talk about it, tomorrow, in the morning where everything looks like it is made anew.

“Your old bedroom should be clean enough, I think.” It is an olive branch, and Tasuku is too exhausted to hide his relief at the offer.

“I—yes, that sounds great,” Tasuku says, nodding sharply. Fuyuki can almost see the tension draining slowly out of him in the way his shoulders start to sag, as if the invisible strings holding him taut are finally loosened.

“It’s late,” Fuyuki’s voice is gentle with concern. “Go to sleep.”

Tasuku would have objected to such orders, at any other time, would have scowled at being treated like a child. But his exhaustion wins out, this time. “Okay,” he says tightly, and Fuyuki has to stop himself from reaching out to ruffle Tasuku’s hair, the way he used to do to distract his brother from nerves.

“I’m going running, tomorrow.” Another olive branch, in a language they both share. “Are you coming with me?”

Tasuku’s eyes narrow for a brief second as he tries to interpret the meaning behind Fuyuki’s offer. His nod hesitant when he finally agrees. “Sure,” he answers, although he still looks anything but sure.

Fuyuki grins at him. “Great! Now go to sleep, I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

* * *

The sun is a distant burst of orange light perched on the horizon when they make their way out of the door, greeted by a light breeze and the sharp, green smell of morning dew on grass.

Tasuku’s eyes are red, his hair rumpled, as if he spent the entire night tossing and turning in his bed instead of getting any sleep; he probably had. Fuyuki would probably be more sympathetic if he doesn’t know what caused it.

“Ready?” Fuyuki throws him a water bottle. Tasuku catches it one-handed, out of reflex.

“Good catch,” Fuyuki tells him. Tasuku huffs, indignant, although the effect is greatly diminished by the yawn he keeps trying to stifle.

“If all you want to do is to play around, I’m leaving you behind,” Tasuku says, right before he dashes out of the gate.

Fuyuki spares a few seconds to look at Tasuku’s retreating back, the way he seems to relax by a fraction with every step he takes, and starts running.

* * *

They make their stop at a park a few kilometers away, sweating and panting from the exertion. Fuyuki flops gracelessly onto one of the park benches, groaning as he stretches his burning legs out in front of him. Tasuku sits down beside him, taking big gulps from his water bottle with a heaving chest.

The tightness knitted tightly between his brows is gone, now, his eyes clearer; he looks less like he is about to burst at the seams from the emotions he is holding close to his chest. Running is magical, that way. Fuyuki knows this—he is, after all, the person who introduced Tasuku to running, to the different kind of freedom that it offers. There is no need to hide, to pretend you are anyone but yourself when you let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it all—the burning in your legs, every rise and fall of your chest.

“Feeling better now?” Fuyuki asks.

Tasuku does not glare at his obvious concern or question the obvious implication of this line of inquiry. Fuyuki takes this as a good sign, even as Tasuku leans back and tilts his head upward, decidedly not looking at Fuyuki as he answers, “A little.”

“Good.” He doesn’t push, because that rarely ever works on Tasuku. Instead he laces his fingers together and stretches his hands above his head, closing his eyes against the pale rays of the morning sun.

“Do you remember,” he begins as memories start to unfold behind his eyelids, “the time you ran away from home with Tsumugi, to a park like this?”

Tasuku shifts beside him.

“What about it?” Wariness is creeping into his voice, unsure where Fuyuki is going with this conversation.

Fuyuki opens his eyes, turns his head to look at his brother. “The two of you gave us all quite a scare,” he says fondly, smiling at the memory. He remembers being absolutely terrified, that day, clinging to his mother’s hand as fear stretched every second into entire decades, although in the end they had managed to find both missing children in less than half an hour, because children are not very good at hiding. Fuyuki had cried in relief, which made Tasuku cry too, and then Tsumugi, until the three of them turned into red-faced, snotty messes.

“Do you remember what you said, when we asked you why you ran away with Tsumugi?”

Tasuku is silent, even though the twitch of the corner of his mouth tells Fuyuki everything he needs to know.

 _I don’t want Tsumu to get lonely_ , Tasuku had said with all the determination a six-year-old could muster. His scowl had been an impressive thing, even as a child, his eyes blazing with protectiveness so fierce that Fuyuki can still picture it clearly, even now.

Tasuku scoffs. There is self-deprecation, there, and hurt from an old wound that bleeds anew. “Inseparable, huh.” He slouches against the bench, shoulders curling inward. “I wonder about that.”

Fuyuki sees an opening and seizes it.

“What happened between you and Tsumugi, this time?”

In any other circumstance Tasuku would shut him out with a scowl, glowering at him as he told Fuyuki that _it’s none of your concern, brother_. But Tasuku hasn’t looked this lost in a long time; it leaves him with his guards down, for once.

“You were right,” he answers without looking at Fuyuki. “About this whole thing. I should have listened to you.”

Fuyuki can count on one hand the number of times Tasuku had told him he was right in the past five years. It would have delighted him, if it weren’t for the way Tasuku had said it—small and self-defeating, not at all like the brother he has grown up with.

“Is this about the whole...” Fuyuki tries to gesture, but the concept of ‘pretending to date a childhood friend you are in love with’ turns out to be incredibly difficult to depict. “...fake dating thing?”

Tasuku makes a noise that is somewhere between a groan and the pained whine of a wounded bear Fuyuki once heard in a nature documentary.

“What happened?”

Multiple worst case scenarios flash in Fuyuki’s mind: did the plan not work and Tasuku’s obsessive fan return? Did a tabloid manage to find out that they faked this whole thing? Did--

“We kissed.”

Fuyuki turns around to look at Tasuku so fast that his neck hurts, the scenarios in his mind screeching to an abrupt halt.

“You—“ he blinks once, twice, as he tries to make sure that he didn’t misheard what Tasuku said. “— _kissed_?”

Tasuku is raking his fingers through his hair with more force than strictly necessary. “Please don’t make me say it again,” he pleads, his voice small and raw.

“I don’t understand,” Fuyuki says, after a few long seconds where they are both silent and not quite looking at each other. “I thought you wanted to—“

He is not supposed to say it. He _knows_ he is not supposed to say it. He bites back a wince when Tasuku gives him a bewildered, accusatory look.

“ _What_ are you talking about?”

Ah, well. It’s too late to back away from it now, he supposes.

“Tasuku,” Fuyuki starts, in a tone he learned from his conflict de-escalation training. “You like him, don’t you?”

Fuyuki swears he can hear Tasuku’s teeth grind. “I—“ Tasuku says through gritted teeth. “It shouldn’t have gone like this.”

“What did you do, exactly?”

Tasuku tells him, his voice flat as he recounts everything that happened: his frustration; Tsumugi’s plea to help him; the suggestion he blurted out on accident and Tsumugi’s willingness to go with it, until—

“He kissed me,” Tasuku sounds downright miserable. “And I kissed him back. I _know_ I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t know what I was thinking and I can’t—“ he cuts off, his voice strangled as he digs the flat of his palms against his eyes. Fuyuki’s chest constricts at the sight, because the thing about baby brothers is they do not outgrow your protectiveness of them, not really, even when they have grown up into fine adults, albeit ones with a blind spot the shape of their childhood friends regarding relationships.

He supposes he cannot blame Tasuku for it, for the most part. He has, after all, seen first-hand what Godza’s audition had done to Tasuku and Tsumugi both, the frayed edges of their relationship that took them far too long to finally mend. But he had also been in the audience on the day when Mankai Company won against Godza in their showdown act, had cried and clapped so hard at the understated brilliance of its finale that the palms of his hands stung for minutes afterwards. It is the way Raphael said _I lost not only my loved one but also my best friend_ with the heart-wrenching vulnerability of a heartbreak that was given space to be spoken out loud, at last, after it has begun to heal; the way Michael laid his head on Raphael’s chest with a physicality that is immediately familiar to Fuyuki.

He spent the weeks after the performance gushing about it to anyone who would listen, and then again when his DVD finally arrived in the mail—the beautifully written story, the costumes, the setting. But the thing he loves the most about Sympathy for the Angel is something he has never told anyone, never even said out loud: it is the way Tasuku and Tsumugi had stood together, on that stage, as if they were finally coming home.

Fuyuki’s friends and colleagues tell him that he has a brother complex, and maybe he does, because there is no denying the way his chest seems to swell with pride whenever he sees his brother on the cover of the playbills or under the bright spotlights of the stage, knowing how hard he has worked to get there. He has _seen_ Tasuku’s scripts, boxes and boxes of them, each one filled with highlighted lines and handwritten notes on his character’s background, motives, emotions--his obliviousness of his own emotions would have been _cute_ , if it weren’t for how miserable it makes him. And maybe a part of Fuyuki regrets the choice he made not to interfere, back then.

“Did you know,” he catches Tasuku’s gaze and holds it, “that Tsumugi reached out to me first?”

Tasuku’s forehead creases, his mouth open as if he’s about to ask a question, but Fuyuki presses on. “A week before your debut performance he called me out of the blue and asked if I would like to watch the show with him.”

“I said yes, of course—brotherly duty and all that,” Fuyuki chuckles softly. “But I knew you hadn’t talked to each other in almost a year, by then, and I wasn’t sure how it would go.”

The Tsumugi he had met seemed like an entirely different person, his shoulders hunched and his eyes downcast. He answered Fuyuki’s questions in vague details, pointedly brushing aside any attempt Fuyuki had made to broach the topic of theater.

“But then the play started and—did you remember the very first scene, when your character fought against those bandits?”

Tasuku nods mutely, although the tense lines of his face haven’t dissipated. Fuyuki continues.

“I wish you could have seen how he looked at you, when he saw you on that stage.”

He can still picture the memory with a picture-perfect clarity: Tsumugi, leaning forward, his copy of the playbill clutched close to his chest as he gazed up with an expression so open, so full of wonder, as if nothing else existed but the sharply cut figure of Tasuku on the stage. “I remember thinking—that’s the look of someone in love.”

Tasuku doesn’t quite flinch at the word _love_ , but his gaze drops almost immediately. “Brother,” he sighs, crossing his arms in front of his chest as if that could shield him from the gravity of what Fuyuki is telling him. But Fuyuki is not quite done, and maybe this conversation is long overdue, after all.

“And when the play ended, well, you remember the questionnaire.”

The girl seated to his left had written a brief comment with bubbly letters and more than a few doodles of hearts and flowers. It was not unusual—most people who had come to watch the plays Tasuku had starred in usually left giggling and starry-eyed, dreamily whispering about how brilliant he was, how handsome, everyone’s fairytale dreams in flesh. Fuyuki expected the same from Tsumugi, who had looked as if the play had bewitched him, but Tsumugi bit his lips in a look of pure concentration as his pen flew across the page for far longer than everyone else around them; when he shoved the questionnaire to Fuyuki, his expression was stoic and determined.

“Would you mind copying this, for me? I can’t—“ his voice wobbled and he stopped, still holding the questionnaire out. Even with his small, cramped handwriting, Tsumugi still managed to fill the entirety of the questionnaire, back to back. There was barely any praise to be found anywhere on its pages. Instead Tsumugi had written long lists in bullet points, separated by act and then scene, on things Tasuku had missed, scenes he needed to improve. Some of the details Fuyuki hadn’t even noticed.

“Of course,” he replied. He realized, then, that the questionnaire was the closest thing to a love letter between Tsumugi and Tasuku, written entirely in a language that only they understood.

Tasuku is deliberately avoiding his searching gaze, but he cannot hide his flushed cheeks.

“You still have the questionnaire with you.” It’s not a question, but Fuyuki smiles when Tasuku nods, regardless.

“Is it so difficult to believe,” Fuyuki’s voice is softer, now, “that Tsumugi loves you?”

Tasuku clenches his fists tightly in his lap and a part of Fuyuki wants to shake him, ask him the question he knows he cannot ask: _what are you afraid of?_

“I don’t—“ Tasuku’s voice dies in his throat. “I can’t lose him again.”

Ah. Fuyuki supposes he cannot blame Tasuku for this fear. It’s almost endearing, really, if it were not also quite frustrating—Tasuku has always been so sure of himself, of his wants, that seeing him waver fills Fuyuki with the overwhelming need to give him the warmest hug he can give and reassure him that things will turn out just fine.

“You won’t,” Fuyuki reassures. “I have never seen anyone more inseparable than the two of you, Tasuku, and no—“ Tasuku is opening his mouth to argue and Fuyuki shushes him with a flick of his hand. “No. It’s not because you are his childhood friend, no.”

“I could tell you dozens of reasons why I think you are being unreasonably pessimistic about this whole thing and I _know._ “ The look he gives Tasuku is that of fond exasperation. “I _know_ you would still find it hard to believe. So you don’t have to listen to _me_ about any of this.”

Fuyuki takes his phone out of his back pocket and scrolls down through his contact list until he gets to the one with a familiar profile picture of rows and rows of flowers blooming. “Talk to _him_ instead and listen to what _he_ has to say, okay? You cannot avoid him forever.”

He thrusts his phone out to Tasuku unceremoniously, stifling a laugh at the way Tasuku is looking at the phone like it is going to grow a set of fangs and sink them into his hand. “Go on,” Fuyuki urges when Tasuku makes no move to take the phone from him. “I’m not going to let you go back until you text him.”

“Fine,” Tasuku huffs and snatches the phone from him. Fuyuki counts that as a win.

Tasuku keeps deleting and rewriting his text, but Fuyuki has waited for years for this to finally happen—he can wait for a few more minutes.

When Tasuku finally sends the text, the line of his mouth is tense, trepidation flitting across his face, but the set of his shoulders has relaxed by a fraction.

Fuyuki _does_ reach out and ruffle his hair, this time. He laughs when Tasuku swats his hand away with half-hearted annoyance, and Fuyuki ruffles his hair one more time before standing up.

“I know you have it in you, little brother,” he grins, feeling extraordinarily proud. “Let me know how it goes later, okay?”

He is looking forward to telling Tasuku and Tsumugi both _I told you so_ , later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> coming up next: itaru-sensei's class on practical application of dating sims gaming experience ft. tsukioka tsumugi.
> 
> thank you so much for reading! kudos and comments are appreciated as always 💚💙 
> 
> if you want to you can always find me on my main twt where it's tasutsumu o'clock all day every day [@chumuwugi](https://twitter.com/chumuwugi) or on my new writing acct [@ecphrastic](https://twitter.com/ecphrastic)!


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